Always Close Behind
by Glass Shoe
Summary: Crichton gets sick and Aeryn gets mad


Title: Always Close Behind  
  
Rating: PG for language  
  
Summary: Crichton gets sick and Aeryn gets mad.  
  
Category: Drama  
  
Spoilers: Everything up through "Fractures", especially late season 2 and 3.  
  
Disclaimer: I love 'em but I don't own 'em and I sure don't make any money off 'em.  
  
They belong to Henson & co.  
  
Archiving: Sure, just drop me a line at glassshoe60@hotmail.com  
  
Note: Be forewarned: This is sappy post-Fractures fic. Feedback is always welcome. Be gentle, this is my first fanfic. Here goes:  
  
***  
  
Sometimes walking helped clear her head.  
  
Sometimes it didn't...  
  
This was one of those times.  
  
It was night on Moya and the crew were tucked away in their quarters, sound asleep...all but Aeryn Sun. She preferred to take her shifts on command when the others were not around. That way they could not bother her with their incessant chatter, their petty problems. That way she could get away from them, away from him...  
  
But even when she was alone she wasn't alone, and that was when she walked.  
  
Frelling Human. He had always wanted to talk, always wanted others to talk to him. Even dead he wouldn't leave her alone. Sometimes she thought she could hear his footsteps ringing hollow on Moya's skin-steel deck, following her as she walked. When she picked up the pace, so did he, following even at a dead run. In life, she was faster than him. His fragile human body could never hope to train up to the standard of a Peace-Keeper commando. In death, he matched her step for step until finally she would whirl around to confront her ghostly pursuer.  
  
But all that ever greeted her was an empty corridor.  
  
She was alone, more terribly and deeply alone than she had ever been in her life. And the Other, the Copy, was a walking, talking reminder of what she had lost. His presence was like a slap in the face...and she hated him for it. She especially hated him tonight. An incident only a few arns ago had forced her to think about him when all she wanted to do was forget she had ever laid eyes on the frelling stupid Erp-man.  
  
It had happened only a few arns ago, just as she had come on shift. Pilot had picked up an encoded transmission. It was coming from a satellite that orbited a nearby planet. Thinking it was a Peace-Keeper transmission broadcasting their location, Pilot had summoned the crew to Command. Talyn and Crais had confirmed that it was no more than a weather-tracking satellite that used an encrypting system similar to Peace-Keeper technology. Scans confirmed that there were no Peace-Keeper vessels in the area. The scans took no more than an arn, but in all that time he did not set foot on Command. It was not like John -any version of John- not to respond to a crisis. Guilt gnawed her. A few days ago he had approached her, trying to soothe her with his incessant Human chatter. He had only left her alone after her tool belt narrowly missed hitting him in the head. She knew he would never ignore Pilot's call just to avoid her, though. The rest of the crew had said nothing when the Human failed to show. Every so often she would check their eyes for any hint of accusation. None of them so much as blinked. That was when she began to suspect that something wasn't right.  
  
Then, as they left Command, Aeryn overheard part of a conversation between Rygel and Chiana:  
  
"Just because Crichton's not eating his share of food doesn't mean you can hoard what's left over," Chiana told him, giving the diminutive Dominar's earbrow a firm pinch to drive her point home.  
  
"You boney-assed bitch, I'm not hoarding...I'm simply keeping it safe...for a 'stormy day' as Crichton would say."  
  
"It's 'windy day', and it'll keep better in the storage locker than it will in your quarters!" With that Chiana let go of his earbrow. Rygel's throne- sled tilted dangerously before righting itself, only to bump up against a very surly-looking Luxan.  
  
"Rygel," he grumbled, "you will return Crichton's share of food to the storage locker immediately or I will jettison you myself..." He started to walk away, then turned back, "and it's 'rainy day'."  
  
...the rest of the conversation faded away as the crew moved out of ear- shot, leaving Aeryn alone.  
  
She could have commed Pilot. Hezmana, she could have commed Crais. He probably knew more about what was happening than she did. But instead of venting her irritation over the nearest available comm frequency, she began to pace back and forth. Slowly at first, then faster and farther until her pacing could no longer be contained by the Command chamber. So she left. Her footsteps rang sharp and angry against Moya's deck, punctuating her thoughts: Irresponsible. Inexcusable. Zhaan was right to call them her "children". Didn't they realize that they were all at risk if a member of Moya's crew was unable to respond to a crisis? She had a mind to rouse every one of them from their beds and give them a stern lecture about the benefits of effective communication, preferably at pulse-pistol-point.  
  
Retribution could wait until after she had figured out what was wrong with Cri- the Other. And the best way to do that was to go straight to the source...at least that was what she told herself as her traitorous feet carried her to the Human's quarters.  
  
Aeryn's footsteps slowed, her body responding automatically to a sense of wrongness that hung in the air outside his cell. She was no Luxan but she thought she could detect an odor, faint, but there. She knew his scent, knew it too well: earthy, Human. What she smelled now was the same, only soured by sweat and sickness. It was similar to the way her John had smelled when he was dying. As she drew closer she caught a hint of something else: blood. The tang was unmistakable. She'd inflicted enough wounds to know the scent like an old friend.  
  
She expected to find him asleep, or at least in bed. She'd heard no movement from inside the darkened cell. Light from the corridor spilled across his sleeping pallet and through the latticed door she could see his rumpled bedclothes. But there was no trace of the Human.  
  
A hacking cough split the air and Aeryn's hand went immediately to the weapon strapped to her thigh. She had to strain her eyes to see where the sound was coming from. For a microt she wished she had the night-vision lens she'd used in the shadow depository. The frelling cell looked empty...no, wait, there...he was leaning against the far bulkhead, hovering over the wash basin with his back to her. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she saw that he had one sweaty arm braced against the wall and the other wrapped protectively around his mid-section. He was shirtless and far too pale. She watched as his body was wracked by a violent fit of coughing that made her own sides ache sympathetically. She was almost ready to open the door and go to him when his cough subsided and he spat something dark and wet into the basin.  
  
Shaking, he made a half-hearted attempt to straighten up. He started to turn around and Aeryn ducked out of sight. She didn't move as quietly as she would have liked but he didn't seem to hear her. She stayed hidden, just listening to his breathing until it became slow and even.  
  
Aeryn waved the door open and approached the sleeping Human. He had not bothered with the bedclothes, just curled into a shivering ball atop the sleeping pallet. Blood, the smell was thicker now that she was closer, but she could see no wound. Both of his arms were wrapped around his stomach. Perhaps that was what he was hiding. Anger rose again in the back of her throat. How could they not tell her that he had been injured? Especially after her John...or perhaps it was because of her John that they had not told her. Did they think she would not be able to handle losing another Crichton? Maybe they thought she would not care...  
  
One at a time Aeryn carefully pried his arms away from the Human's stomach, pausing each time he stirred. She was not prepared for what she saw: Clean, unblemished skin. No open wound, no bandages, no scar, nothing, and still she could smell blood. Aeryn Sun did not like puzzles and the Human was enough of a puzzle Iwithout/I medical complications.  
  
Her eyes traced the contours of his stomach to his chest and across his shoulders and up... Having to look him in the face was something she had hoped to avoid. Too late now.  
  
He was thinner than she recalled. His once-boyish cheeks had gone hollow and there were dark circles under his eyes. His jaw was lined with beard stubble as if he had not shaved in days.  
  
And there was blood on his lips.  
  
She should not have cared. He was not her John, not her lover. But a sudden tightness in her throat said that she did. Aeryn told herself firmly that it was only concern for a ship-mate, and barely that, since he was only a copy. Only a perfect copy...  
  
She pushed that thought away.  
  
He had been coughing up blood. Why? What the hezmana was wrong with him? Was he injured? Sick? If he were a Sebacean she would have suspected paraphoral nerve damage, but Humans did not have a paraphoral nerve.  
  
There were too many questions and she wanted answers. Now.  
  
***  
  
"The Commander called it a 'peptic ulcer'," Pilot informed her. Aeryn had not bothered with comms, just gone straight to Pilot's chamber. The DRD's had of course notified him of her approach...among other things. He answered her questions calmly and efficiently. No stalling, no lies. It only infuriated her all the more. Yes, the Human was ill. Yes, the rest of the crew knew about it. No, they had not felt it was necessary to inform her, but they had all agreed that should she ask, they would tell her. So she asked and he told, "He has had the condition for some time. Only recently has he developed complications."  
  
"Internal bleeding," she said.  
  
"Some, yes."  
  
Aeryn gripped the front of Pilot's console, steeling herself so that she could ask: "Will he die?"  
  
Pilot only took a fraction of a microt to look at her before answering. It felt like arns, "The Commander...does not think so." There was doubt in his voice, "He says that he only needs rest and food, but he has not been able to keep anything down. He has been growing weaker-"  
  
She cut him off, "What can be done, Pilot?"  
  
"Joolushko has already tried a number of medicines from Zhaan's apothecary...with little success. Without additional supplies there is nothing she can do." Aeryn continued to stare expectantly at Pilot after he had finished speaking, prompting him to continue, "However, Moya and I have located a commerce planet where we may be able to procure the ingredients that she needs. It is only a day's travel from our current location. The planet's atmosphere is subject to erratic changes in weather pattern. It would require a skilled pilot to navigate a transport pod safely to the surface..."  
  
"Fine. Notify me the microt we reached the planet," she said, turning on her heel.  
  
She was already half-way to the door when Pilot called after her, "Officer Sun-"  
  
She stopped but did not turn around. That way he could not see the tears in her eyes. She could not keep them out of her voice, though, "If any member of this crew is injured or ill I expect to be notified immediately. Is that clear, Pilot?"  
  
"Yes, Officer Sun," he said softly.  
  
With her back ram-rod straight, Aeryn Sun marched up to command. Once there, she booted the first DRD she saw, slumped against the nearest console and began to sob in a very un-Peace-Keeper-like way.  
  
What kills Humans? She already had an answer to that question. She didn't need another.  
  
Thankfully Rygel was as tardy as usual when he came to relieve her.  
  
"Pilot says that you spoke with him last night," the little dominar said by way of a greeting. His tone was not without compassion.  
  
Rygel knew that it was his bad luck to be the first person she spoke to that morning. He also expected that he would be the first of many to face the wrath of Aeryn Sun today.  
  
She did not disappoint him.  
  
Gripping the arms of his throne-sled, Aeryn brought herself nose-to nose- slits with the Hynerian, "You knew Crichton was ill and you did not tell me."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?" Her voice was flat and emotionless. She could have been interrogating a prisoner.  
  
"When did you start caring about this Crichton?" He knew the words were a mistake before they were out of his mouth.  
  
Aeryn gripped the front of his purple robe, nearly cutting off his air supply, "How long has he been ill?"  
  
"The day after...we returned," he gasped.  
  
Whether or not she was satisfied with his answer he could not tell. She let him go with a shove that sent his throne-sled careening into Moya's bulkhead. When he righted himself Aeryn was on her way out of the chamber. He shouted at her retreating back, "Crichton says the illness is stress- related! Odd, don't you think, that it should get worse when he finally sees you again!" He knew she'd heard him. "Peace-Keeper bitch," he mumbled, straightening his robe.  
  
***  
  
  
  
Aeryn found Jool preening in her chamber. The debutante was very cooperative once Aeryn asked nicely. She had lots of information to offer. More like blame, really: D'argo had been the first to discover Crichton was ill. Chiana was the one who suggested they shouldn't tell Aeryn. Crais had gone along with the whole thing.  
  
Aeryn could have been more persusive and gotten the whole truth, unfortunately Jool was also the only one who might be able to cure Crichton's illness. So Aeryn went easy on her. She only tore out a small handful of Jool's hair. Still, by the time Aeryn left, the Interon's comb and a hair ornament were inseparably melted to the table.  
  
When you have a scream that can melt metal, you should invest in grooming devices that aren't metal, Aeryn thought.  
  
"Look on the bright side," Aeryn said, tossing the hank of hair onto the deck, "it saves you the trouble of shedding."  
  
By the time Aeryn left Jool's quarters Rygel had obviously informed the rest of the crew that she would be looking for a word with them. Chiana was nowhere to be found but D'argo greeted her outside the Nebari's quarters, arms folded across his chest, ready for a fight.  
  
"Where is Chiana?"  
  
There was no apology in D'argo's stance. He cocked his tentacled head at her, "I will not allow you to harm her."  
  
"I do not wish to harm the little tralk. I merely wish to impress upon her the importance of communicating effectively with one's fellow shipmates."  
  
"Out of everyone on board I believe you are the least qualified to lecture about communication."  
  
"You're one to talk. Chiana frelled your son right underneath your big Luxan nose. How effective was your communication with the little bitch then?" That was cruel, even for Aeryn. She didn't need to look in D'argo's eyes to know that she had wounded him.  
  
D'argo saw what she was doing: trying to provoke him, get him to fight her. But he would not rise to her bait, "Aeryn, I will be honest with you."  
  
"That would be a nice change."  
  
D'argo took a breath to calm himself, "Crichton specifically asked us not to tell you that he was ill."  
  
Well, that made sense. Frelling Human. He was constantly playing the infallible hero despite his physical inferiority. That's what frelling cost her John his life in the first place!  
  
At that thought, her anger lost some of its edge. Something in her face must have betrayed her because D'argo's voice became gentler and he moved closer, "I was the first to smell the blood on him. I took John to Jool, but the only thing she could do was give him a sedative. He made us all promise not to tell you. It was Chiana's idea not to keep the truth from you if you asked. That way we were still keeping our promise to John. If there was anything I thought you could do I would have broken that promise immediately." He placed his big hands on her shoulders, "I know what it is like to lose a mate-"  
  
"Do not finish that thought," Aeryn warned him, shrugging out of his grip. "My concern is not for...him. My concern is that this ship functions smoothly. If a member of this crew is unable to function it places the rest of us in danger. If someone is impaired I need to know about it." She would have gone on but her voice was beginning to thicken. She turned to leave.  
  
"Aeryn-"  
  
"No!" This time there were no tears in her eyes when she turned to face her addresser, "And you were wrong about me not being able to do anything. The commerce planet has a turbulent atmosphere and I am the best pilot on board."  
  
D'argo just looked at her silently until she whirled around and marched off.  
  
Wherever Chiana was hidden it would take her too long to find the little tralk. Aeryn would need her rest if she was going to navigate a hostile atmosphere in a transport pod. She headed towards her quarters...which were on the same tier as his.  
  
He was lying on his pallet, sheets tangled about his legs...awake.  
  
"Hey," he said, catching sight of her before she could escape.  
  
"Hey," she returned.  
  
"I, uh, just over-slept," he lied. "I'm going to take a shower and head down to the maintenance bay. Pilot says a few of the DRD's are malfunctioning. I told him I'd take a look. I was thinking that I would paint little checkers on the sides of them while I'm at it. Make 'em look like little taxis with antennae."  
  
More Human gibberish. He was so pale...  
  
"I was just on my way to bed," she told him.  
  
He smiled slightly, "Well, good night."  
  
"Good night," she responded, moving away from his door.  
  
"Sleep tight...don't let the bed-bugs bite..." he mumbled as she retreated down the corridor.  
  
***  
  
Pilot woke her an arn before Moya reached the commerce planet. Surprisingly Jool was already waiting for her in the maintenance bay when she arrived. The chunk of hair that she'd removed from the Interon's scalp seemed to have already regenerated.  
  
"The atmosphere is calm now, Aeryn, but the weather may shift when you try to return," Pilot warned her over the comm.  
  
"Thank you, Pilot," she answered.  
  
The entire way down to the planet Jool eyed her warily but said nothing. It was a welcome relief from her whining.  
  
The market in which Jool had chosen to do her shopping was situated in what could be generously called "the shady part of town". Aeryn kept her pulse pistol handy.  
  
"We're looking for keplac syrup and tishnisin powder," Jool told her.  
  
"What do they do?"  
  
Jool gave her a look that said 'stupid grunt'. Instead she said, "One is a muscle relaxant. The other promotes tissue growth...at least in Interons."  
  
They wandered from booth to booth for a few arns. None of the vendors had either of the medicines. Most of them had never even heard of the two substances. Worse, Jool kept getting distracted by jewelry and other pieces that they had to offer.  
  
"I need a comb to replace the one that you ruined," the Interon told her when Aeryn pulled her away from a stall.  
  
Aeryn didn't bother to argue with her. She knew she would only be wasting time. Instead she let the debutante browse while she inquired after the medicines at the next stall.  
  
"Ah, keplac syrup I have," said the merchant, a purple-skinned Kediki, a species with a flat face and four muscular arms. She produced a vial filled with a white, thick-looking liquid. When her back was turned Aeryn noticed a strange tattoo on her bare upper-right shoulder blade. The merchant noticed her curious glance. "It is the symbol for death in my language. Mmm, yes. It reminds one that death is always close behind. Enjoy what you have, yes, because it will not always be so. Mmm. See Polgeth at end of street for tishnisin powder. He will have. Twenty dendars is for keplac syrup."  
  
Aeryn and the merchant hammered out an exchange rate and Aeryn tucked the vial into her vest.  
  
The merchant called Polgeth did indeed have the tishnisin powder. Aeryn let Jool spend her own money this time, having successfully pried the little hair-ball away from a stall filled with flashy trinkets.  
  
As Jool haggled with Polgeth over the price of the tishnisin powder, Aeryn stared out over the heads of the passing throng. Something that the Kediki merchant had said came to mind, ...death is always close behind.  
  
Her John. Her fragile Human. Their relationship had been doomed from the start. Even barring an accident his life-expectancy was so short that she would have almost certainly outlived him. He would have grown old while she remained young.  
  
"Closer for some than others," Aeryn muttered to herself. When she realized that she had spoken out loud Aeryn glanced around to make sure no one had heard her. Jool was busy screeching at the merchant and the rest of the market was so crowded that anything below a shout could not have been heard.  
  
"Thirty dendars?! Your supplier couldn't have charged more than five for the whole tube! I won't stand for this, I-" Aeryn clapped a hand over her big mouth and shoved the difference at the purple merchant, whose ears were turning magenta at the Interon's indignant outburst. Aeryn snatched up the small tube of powder in one hand and with the other dragged Jool bodily away from the stall, "You just paid him more than he was asking! And I wasn't done in there!" she cried.  
  
"We came for medicine, we obtained medicine and now we are leaving with medicine," Aeryn told her firmly.  
  
"What's your hurry? Crichton's not going to die if we're gone a few more microts." Before she'd finished the sentence Jool knew that she'd made a mistake.  
  
Aeryn spun to face her, features schooled into a cold Peace-Keeper mask. Jool seemed to shrink in on herself, one hand creeping up to clutch protectively at her red hair. When Aeryn spoke her voice was a low, warning rumble, "I want to launch before the weather changes."  
  
"Are you farhbot? There's no wind and not a single cloud in the sky!"  
  
Aeryn looked up and saw that it was true. For a planet that was subject to sudden atmospheric changes it certainly seemed temperate. Perhaps they just hadn't experienced the 'sudden' part yet. Aeryn ignored Jool's protests and the Interon lapsed into sulky silence on the way back up to Moya.  
  
After they docked Jool scurried immediately off to Zhaan's lab. Aeryn remained behind. She must have sat there for a half an arn at least, just staring blankly at the controls, feeling...she didn't know what...  
  
Soon it would be time for her shift on Command. But before that happened she had someone to see...  
  
***  
  
"There were no atmospheric irregularities on that planet, were there, Pilot?" Aeryn asked softly, her hands resting on the front of his console.  
  
"No, Officer Sun," Pilot responded. When she said nothing he continued, "I...only thought that you would want to be of use...to Crichton...Are you angry with me?"  
  
"No, Pilot," she said, clasping one of his pincers in her hands.  
  
Slowly she turned to leave. As she did so Jool's voice came over the comms, "Pilot, I'm in lab with Crichton. It looks like he's responding to the treatment."  
  
"I am pleased to hear it." Pilot responded.  
  
"I've given him a sedative for now. It should wear off in about seven arns or so. For the drugs to work correctly he will need to eat as soon as he wakes up. I wanted to have Chiana bring him something, but the monochromatic tralk is still hiding from that psychotic Peace-Keeper bitch."  
  
"I will take care of it, Joolushko," Pilot assured her. He was still looking at Aeryn.  
  
Enjoy what you have...it will not always be so...death is always close behind...  
  
"Chiana hides well," Aeryn said slowly. "The DRD's may not be able to find her in seven arns..."  
  
"You may be right, Officer Sun. Perhaps," he proposed, "I should not even send them to look..."  
  
Aeryn nodded to her four-armed accomplice.  
  
"Thank you, Officer Sun."  
  
"I'm only trying to be of use."  
  
***  
  
Seven arns after her conversation with Pilot, Officer Aeryn Sun, ex-Peace Keeper of Icaran company, Pleisar regiment, sat quietly in Zhaan's lab. Her hair was tied back in a neat queue. She wore a fresh uniform.  
  
A tray of food cubes rested on her lap...the green ones. Yes, Chiana could have come up with something more appetizing, she knew. But that wasn't the point.  
  
Frell if she really wanted to think about the point of all this.  
  
In front of her the Human lay sleeping atop the diagnostic table. He was no less pale or thin than when she had last seen him, but at least his muscles were no longer clenched in pain.  
  
His thumb twitched. Aeryn stood and hovered over him. Slowly his blue eyes opened and took her in.  
  
"Uh oh," he said in a voice that was hoarse from coughing, "somebody spilled the beans."  
  
Aeryn found herself checking under her boots for the spilled 'beems' before she realized it was just another Erp-saying.  
  
He propped himself up with one hand and probed his stomach for tenderness with the other. Satisfied that there was none, he swung his legs over the side of the table. "I'm going to catch hell for this, aren't I?"  
  
Aeryn thought she could guess his meaning that time. She held out the tray, "You need to eat." When he took the food from her she did not leave, but instead took up residence in her chair.  
  
"Making sure that I clean my plate?" he asked around a mouthful of green food-cube.  
  
"If you're feeling well enough to clean kitchen-ware I'm sure that Rygel has left more than enough dirty dishes in the central chamber..."  
  
He laughed, choking for an instant. Aeryn started out of her seat, but before she was fully standing he had already cleared his throat. Aeryn lowered herself back down and continued to watch him. When he was finished eating she escorted him back to his quarters.  
  
He was still weak, and as they walked, he leaned on her a little. Aeryn submitted to the warm contact without comment or complaint.  
  
This incident was only the most recent reminder of the Human's frailty.  
  
...death is always close behind...  
  
Nothing could bring her John back. All she had left of him was this man, this perfect copy of her only love, and someday he too would be gone...and she would be alone again.  
  
Enjoy what you have...it will not always be so...  
  
But right now he was here, for however many arns or cycles his life would last...  
  
She lowered him onto his sleeping-pallet.  
  
"Thanks, Sunshine."  
  
"Rest," she answered.  
  
And he did.  
  
She knew.  
  
She was there.  
  
End 


End file.
